


When The Lines Blur

by Bee_Tawon



Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Best friend!Bella, Book: New Moon, F/M, Female Protagonist, Good!Jacob, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jalice aren't together- rest easy, Jasper/OFC, Kinda attraction at first sight, Original Character(s), Paul Lahote has a sister and she's been gone for a while, Slow Burn, because sweet jacob is what we deserve, confused!Jasper, just a bunch a problems holy shit, lowkey soul mates, major conflict, mature for violence language and possible sex, mature themes, takes place a little bit after edward dips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28574619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bee_Tawon/pseuds/Bee_Tawon
Summary: Eliza Lahote tries to brave her way through her senior year in Forks High-School after her status as an estranged sister suddenly comes to a close. Money is still tight, friends are made, Paul and crew get increasingly weird, and eventually, things finally start to slide into place.Then, her newfound best friend with terrible self-preservation skills decides to fly to Italy and returns with him.
Relationships: Edward Cullen/Bella Swan, Jasper Hale/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	1. Backwards

First, Alice sees Bella plummet to her death.

Then, Alice sees someone jump in after her.

* * *

**“It feels like I only go backwards, baby Every part of me says, "Go ahead"**

**I got my hopes up again, oh no, not again Feels like we only go backwards, darling”**

**-Tame Impala**

* * *

The creeping chill of November settles into the bones well enough to have the entirety of Washington swaddling like newborns in their cribs. 

It unsettles me, though I find comfort in the way my limbs numb from the scaling cold. The draw of the land is inescapable- like a moth to flame, even when I had washed myself of its remnants in a bucket years prior and flung it to the sea. The siren call of the Quillayute River finally reels in its hooks after three summers of stewing. 

It never lacks the feel of isolation, nor the blanket of overcast. When passing through Forks, I can't help but liken the small town to a swamp _._ It isn’t my home, and with the pale face population ever so comfortable, I can judge.

But beyond its limits, past the long stretch of wood, beholds the village of La Push. 

It's littered from mountain to shore with dinky houses stained red with rust, and patios piled with mud laced shoes. The stink of salt bites at the eyes when the wind whips past and the grand Pines loom higher than any building miles out. Its children are born and raised on barbeque and fairytales, bonds thicker than steel- blood even more so. 

Seeing it all again is a childhood trauma-fest I am nowhere near prepared to face so soon. It takes a moment to realize that the mental prepping done in the car is fashioned upon wet paper towels and kiddie glue. 

The drive is a blur of nerves, and the first 30 minutes has me cranking the volume of the radio to its threshold if only to escape the incessant _thinking_. My brain rattles along to convenient bubblegum pop; My bladder shares my grievances and I stop over accordingly- if only to put off the inevitable. By the third hour, I am sure hearing loss is developed to some degree- but the distraction it provides is more than welcome. 

The rearview mirror does me no favors. The girl that blinks back is a red-eyed mess to behold. Whether it’s from the screen of cigarette smoke that pricks my vision or the situation itself- It makes me scowl in turn. 

The jacket of exhaustion never leaves me- even when I pull up to the familiar rickety blue one story; Even when I see my brother for the first time in three years. 

He is not swaddled in the jacket he should be in, nor is he remotely similar to the noodle-limbed teen I saw last. A man takes the boy’s place, chiseled from a time lost to me. I had withdrawn all expectations long ago but seeing it was _different._

Then, I am nervous- more than I ever was before _this_. At first, it’s because his face holds memories of a time that scares me- too much hurt for me to bury because of the already existing mountain of it beneath my feet; and then, it’s because I don’t know what to fucking say, nor ask, nor where to begin. The script I’d haphazardly penned down in my head ended the moment I decided to come back. Its empty pages are enough to make my heart race; for my nails to scratch at the steering wheel; for my hands to clam up on its leather.

Though the derby race in my chest never seems to cease, I manage to leave the car with my head on my shoulders. The tight-lipped smile I put on- _‘for god knows what reason- there is no one around gullible enough to fool’-_ leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I drop it then. 

He dawns a frown _meant_ to be unwelcoming, and it remains throughout the reunion, all of which consists of his hauling of my bags past the fence and into the door. The welcome is soundless, and when I cross the threshold, I allow my eyes to wander. 

I haven’t thought about what to expect, but it could look near the same if not for the grime and the life it lacked. The lamp beside the couch is now cord-wrapped and bulb-less, and the dinosaur of a TV has a hole pocked curtain draped over it. Scuffs and dirt and strewn food wrappers that could only be attributed to Paul being Paul offset what was once a well-kept household. 

The lights are off. I flip the switch just in case and frown when nothing happens. _'Power’s out'_ \- and judging by the lack of temperature change from when I'd entered- the heater is out of commission as well. I'm surprised when I nudge the kitchen tap and a spray of water fills the quiet. 

_'At Least the idiot can shower. '_

The thought of him spending his days in the cold and dark leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I wring my hands together, eyes roaming yet taking nothing in. I grab a stray tissue and wipe it over a sticky residue on the counter, hoping the action would distract from the sudden onslaught of guilt. Hot and boiling under my skin. _'He should have gone with me.'_

or maybe I should have stayed. 

"Paul?" 

The sound of a cell-phone going off and followed by hushed conversation and an annoyed _‘on my way.’_ is heard through thin plaster. My voice Is raspy and thin, just barely reaching the end of the room. Whether it was from nerves or the pack I'd emptied was debatable. I cough for good measure and my throat loosens. " _Paul_?"

This time, his reemergence from the hall lets me really, truly look at him. The long dark locks that usually adorned the Quileute men were hacked away with seemingly no style in mind besides _short_ ; A Hackjob no doubt. His height made him need to duck to enter the room; The Muscle he'd gained was exceptional to say the least, and I’d never felt more like a stranger than when his feet carried himself out the door without so much as a grunt. 

_‘Great. My sibling is a steroid junkie.’_

Shaking off his exit and assessing the three years of damage left behind, I heave a sigh deep enough to be worthy of some type of recognition and set off to work. 

* * *

The sun had already set when the last garbage bag found itself outside. An afternoon of scrubbing left my fingers raw, and the burning in my throat I blame on the pungent smell of bleach in the air. 

The trip to the general store after I'd found ne'er a single cleaning supply nor a plate that wasn't made of paper was more harrowing than expected.

I thought the reserve had proven its stagnation, and to an extent, it had. A history and culture free of the white man was long past and attempts to preserve what pieces were left had halted our growth. We have no such privilege as forward. What lived here died here. I knew that to be true more than I'd like, and running away from whatever blood prophecy that plagued me had been futile in the end. I felt that If I close my eyes, three years would condense into a single breath, and it would be as if time had halted its course in La Push when I'd taken the old Greyhound bus back to my father. 

Though, when walking to checkout, I notice that Mrs. Chenoa's hair is now speckled with gray and her eyes are lined with a new set of crows feet. Her smile is still a brilliant sight to behold, but the aging in and around her is enough for me to realize that the people had moved on- had _grown_.

I realize that they must assume I had grown too. Lived and loved. Yet, I stand before them with nothing of the sort.

When the aging woman rings me up, she gives me a soft welcome home and tucks a sweet into my hands. 

I leave in a hurry, eyes never straying from the road. I deposit the hard candy into a cup-holder, leaving it to the ants. 

* * *

In the search for my belongings, I find a board nailing our mother's room shut.

_‘That’s one way to deal with grief.’_

I avert my eyes and find that my array of bags are laid on a bed in the room across, a small futon placed neatly on the wood beside it. I remember a bunk in its place. The frame had wobbled to no end, and we would always take turns at the top, betting sticks of bubblegum which one would get squished in their sleep that night. It was gone now, as well as the smiling children that called it theirs. 

Neither of us ever won the bubblegum, but we shared it anyway. 

The lone pillow and sheet ease the discomfort of the floor, but the cold makes my temples ache and teeth chatter. I doze to the hum of my laptop pressed against my chest, its warmth providing welcome relief. When the battery dies and the outlets don’t so much as spark, I pull the thin polyester over my head and avoid any form of coherent thought until my eyes flutter shut. 

I am unsure when Paul had returned, but I awaken that morning with both covers draped over me and a breakfast sandwich wrapped and set on a napkin beside my head. The room is bathed in blue, and the cushy feel of foam has me blinking in surprise. When my eyes find the floor and see Paul snoring in my place, It takes a moment to realize what has happened, and the weird shitty feelings I’ve begun to associate with… **this** resurface so violently I dig my face into my hands and stay that way until the soft, telltale light of sunrise begins to flicker through the window. 

I settle for quietly depositing the sheets over him- arranging them to fit over his annoyingly ginormous frame- before shuffling into the bathroom. 

When I look into the splintered web of a mirror before me, I try not to let the fact that I look like dogshit perturb the morning peace. Disarray, the epitome of it. Images of a pigtailed dew skinned child flit somewhere across my mind, and I almost laugh at the fact that I most certainly peaked at 10 years old. 

The shower is more ice than water. It sputters to life in a lackluster staccato. The frigid stream leaves behind a numbing gooseflesh and I grimace at the lack of satisfaction. I scrub with an unmatched fervor, hoping the lingering bitterness would wash away alongside the peeling skin. When the loofah makes a pass over my side, the familiar sting of pain snaps me out of the cleaning frenzy. 

_‘Shit. I forgot about that.’_

I swipe at the water pooling in my lashes and crane my neck until I catch sight of the purpled offender. The ache I’d been feeling for the last 3 days now has a face- a large bruise stickered on to my side, just a tad wider than my hand- I measure- as I hover it over the welt. I shut off the water then, unwilling to linger. _‘Out of sight, out of mind.’_

The Quileute Tribal School is quaint and speckled with faces, more familiar than not. Built overlooking the sea, the smattering of small buildings stands in all their red-bricked glory. Memories of annual fish bakes and Whale welcomings are what I remember most fondly. Coming home with shoes full of sand and saltwater was a feeling unmatched, only sullied by what eventually happened after. 

As I maneuver through the stray groups I catch my name between lips more than once. I throw small smiles in acknowledgment at the calls, but in my short glances, I see no seniors- no one who had been in my grade last. For that, I feel more thankful than disappointed. A run into someone who _knew_ me was, best-case, undesirable. It was more likely that I refused to be questioned, and didn’t trust myself enough to react well when I eventually would be- so I duck my head low and watch the waves of sneakers saunter by. When my feet eventually lead me inside a small office, I will the buzz of anxiety to leave me.

The desk lady is new- I would never forget the shriveled form of the last. To see her gone made me wonder if she had finally accepted her long-awaited retirement- or perhaps age had finally caught up. The thought makes my heart twitch, and I silently hope the latter isn’t the case, for the old woman had always been kind. 

This one is plump and wears an air of sweetness on her sleeve. She beckons me over, slipping her glasses over her face with practiced ease. “Well, I’ve never seen your face around here honey. What do you need?” I set a large brown envelope in front of the woman and she proceeds to finger through its contents. I note the frown that follows soon after. 

“Enrollment?” The woman- Miss Green, as her name tag reads- asks as she sets the papers down, an edge of surprise and something else mingling with her warm cadence. I nod and swipe my tongue over my lips to relieve the sudden dryness. “I was hoping to transfer back in. I’m in the system- I just moved out of state a few years ago.” The short silence that follows has me adding a mousy _‘If that’s okay’_ for good measure. 

The desk lady sighs “We can’t do that.” a look of pity crossing her face as she tucks the files back into its sleeve, taking care not to crease them. “I’m sorry.”

My face falls, a litany of ‘why’s’ beginning to swarm my head. I dare breathe in the now sour air, chuffing it out in a brazen _“What do you mean?_ ” If the woman is bothered by the slightly desperate tone she shows no indication. Miss Green lays her palms flat on the wood of her desk as if to brace herself to coax a whining child. I continue, “If it’s because the school year’s already started I can catch up-”

“No, sweetheart, it isn’t that.” She interrupts, leaning in slow as if to tell a secret. She speaks plainly “There are _no_ vacancies for seniors.”

The hilarity of the situation makes me ponder the existence of a supernatural force I had definitely pissed off for whatever reason. “How- uh, Is that possible?” I clear my throat after a moment of inappropriate staring “Have a lot of kids transferred in?” 

Desk lady shakes her head in turn, pursing her lips “We are already overcapacity sweetheart- Only so many teachers can handle the students as it is.” she continues, producing a shined leaflet “Some budget allocations were made based on academic rankings- A portion of our Senior students were sent to Forks High after the cut.” _“the rest dropped out”_ goes unsaid. She tucks the brochure into the envelope, sliding it over to me with eyes all too knowing. “The drive is a bit tedious, but it’s worth the education. _Give it a shot._ ”

A plume of heat engulfs me. I scratch at the rip in my jeans, trying not to curse whatever local government dipshit decided to defund a school where most of its kids rely on their free-lunch program. Images of throttling an ancient excuse of a senator flit past. There is truly no better life-long dream than having a greedy liver-spotted prune of a man beneath your boot. 

Miss Green had turned to other matters amid my plotting. I take the envelope into my hands and leave with a small utterance of thanks made in farewell to the woman. The resulting walk back to my car is quick yet mopey. The next destination in mind has me pulling the back seat of my thrice-hand 1994 Nissan Sentra and staring at its peeling roof for the better part of an hour. 

An entire afternoon passed has me back at Paul’s. My eyes train on the long slip of paper I’d folded and unfurled enough to leave its surface wrinkled, however legible.

It was a schedule- one for Forks Highschool _‘Home of the Spartans!’_ -that had been handed to me alongside a laminated ID card I had slung over my neck on the way out of the campus' main building. 

The drive was in fact, tedious. 

It was around 20 minutes of woods- save for when entering Forks itself. The reminders of civilization were nice in their own way, but it could never beat the overlooking view of Rialto Beach, a sight I’d greedily soaked up through the window during long math lectures in La Push. 

I sigh, procuring a worn binder from my bag. The action of peeling away old lessons left me lethargic, and I couldn’t help but look fondly at the old handouts and test sheets. Portland had made me want for naught in terms of education, but I couldn’t say I was parting with anything personal. With no true friend nor foe to vanish from, I had nothing to truly lose except for the peace of mind the distance provided.

_'That isn't true.'_ a voice reminds _'You had people.'_

The faces of Jonathan and Rica had occasionally plagued my thoughts for the better part of the week. They hadn't the ‘room’ to take me in, though I suspected it would impede in their fucking. They were older, graduated, and working part-time to put themselves through their second year of community college. Jonathan and I had started dating when I had entered my Junior year of high school, and through him, I'd met his dorm mate Rica. We'd hung out enough to consider ourselves a clique, and though I hadn't mingled with their skater pothead-esque crowd, they were an acceptable reprieve from life at home. 

The silence that'd followed the announcement of my homelessness was short. Jonathan had sighed and shrugged his shoulders in a way that would say _"What can you do, it happens."_ . Rica had adopted a weird look in her eye, and it never truly left even after she mirrored the boy and laid a consoling hand on my shoulder "That _sucks_ dude."

"We'd take you in Babe, but…" he'd scratched at his stubble and took a glance at Rica before a sheepish look crossed his face. Rica’s expression had soured at the one-sided hug he'd given me. 

"No, I get it." I'd nodded and given a bitter smile despite the burn in my eyes. Any hope that I'd be able to stay was buried under a steadily growing pile of disappointment, alongside the sudden realization that my boyfriend had been regularly piping the girl in front of me. The hurt strikes quick, and the humorless cackle that escapes my mouth makes an uncomfortable air swallow the room. 

After a short silence, I’d sat up and walked out. I was unwilling to risk a run-in with the cops If I’d succumbed to the rising need for extreme violence.

So _no_ , nobody to leave behind. 

I empty my hand-me-down rice sack of a bag and scrub it clean and proper. A trip around the town had yielded my school supplies and tonight's dinner at the expense of my dwindling savings. There is gas in the stove and I had cleaned out the refrigerator and stocked it lightly with the basic necessities. It wasn’t overflowing, but food wouldn’t be a headache for at least a couple of days. 

An electrician had come over, connected us to the grid, and left only an hour prior. The house was bathed, quite literally, in a new light, and it left a small content smile on my face in turn. It doesn’t do much to dispel the ever-present guilt, but it soothes it enough that I finally feel something akin to peace after days of chaos. 

The plates are still hot when Paul swings the door open with a bang.

"The lights."He states, his brows scrunching fierce. Not angry, but confused. He closes the door behind him slowly and it shuts with a soft _‘click_ ’. The weird, familial feelings are strong this time around, and I can manage nothing but a slow nod. I tear off a piece of tortilla- a bit charred thanks to the short dazes I’ve become victim to recently, but the cheese makes up for it- and shoving it into my mouth with an affirming "Mhm. "

He paused, eyes searching. "They're _on._ " 

“They are.” I agree, letting myself enjoy his seemingly perpetual look of constipation. 

He moves to the kitchen now. I notice a plastic bag tied around his wrist when I slide The plate over in what feels like but most definitely is the final piece of this oddly sentimental peace offering. The need to crack the brittle tension is stronger than ever. The sudden realization of my need for acknowledgment- that I was forgiven- was something that hit me over the head. It was an acceptable patheticness. 

“I went to the bank today.” I continue, chewing at my already fattening lip. I swipe another tortilla just to give myself something to do. Paul sits, peeling out a Tupperware. The smell hits me _hard_. Fish fry- the saliva that begins to pool in my mouth is a sixth sense when it comes to the long-held favorite. I nearly reach out and snatch the container right then. A low exhale tears me from the thought.

“You didn’t have to do that.” 

It is the most we’ve spoken in years and I am hesitant to admit that I’ve missed it. My reply comes out garbled as I try and swallow the starchy bread. “I don’t know about _you_ , but freezing to death wasn’t on my list of return activities.” 

“You coming back wasn’t on my list either.”

I blink.

The jab is abrupt and my face falls alongside it. He's serious now, staring at me with an indifference that makes me twitch. The quiet is too long for comfort, and I cough into my hand to break it. 

"Well-" I begin, sliding out of the stool. "I'll be out of your hair soon enough." I curse the way my voice nearly wavers at the end. Sniffing, I pull out my last pack of smokes. 

As soon as it's out it's plucked from my grasp, I sputter and reach for the box dwarfed by Paul's fist. He's standing now, using his stupid mountain of a back to block my scrambling. "Give it back asshole! "

“You gotta stop this shit.” His nose wrinkles “Smells fuckin’ awful. It’ll kill you too.” He surveys the bent packaging with disdain before it disappears into his pocket. "Ground-rule, no smoking in the house." 

The glare I send his way does nothing in the end. He slides back into his chair with ease, his priorities now solely on the food he near shovels into his mouth. He ponders amidst chewing and swallows. The sheer willpower it takes to avoid giving him a good ol’ sock in the face is immense- yet I am sure I’d have one less functional hand not long after.

I cross my arms with a huff "Giv-"

"No smoking. _Ever_."

"You can't tell me what to do." The retort is childish and makes me immediately cringe, but the simmering fury turns into begrudging acceptance at the raised eyebrow Paul shoots "My roof, my-"

" _Rules._ Yeah, got it." 

I was under no illusion that giving the house a good scrub down made it mine again, but the reminder stings. Paul gets the stink eye for a good five minutes before the fish fry manages to quell my ire. It tastes better than I remember, and I almost catch myself making plans on driving over to the Clearwater's and thanking Sue herself when a thought turns the smoky meat to ash on my tongue. 

_'Would anyone even want to see me?'_

If my own brother was iffy about my return, who's to say the rest would be any better. Sure- Paul and I had bad blood, which was understandable, all considering- but everyone else? The possibility of Sue or Billy slamming the door in my face is a consequence I’d never thought I’d need to prepare for.

I stop eating in favor of staring at the wall adjacent. The rest of dinner on my side is spent scratching lines into an already peeling table. When Paul stands and starts washing dishes, It takes more than a little effort to rip open an extra sponge and join in.

"So what? You into bodybuilding now Chad?" I say, willing a conversation into existence if only to distract me from my own unease. He pays a glance and washes off the last of his stack, shaking the plate and placing it on the rack "Puberty exists." he replies

"You were done with it the last I saw you. You didn't get jacked just 'cause." I shrug, tipping soap into the sponge and continuing to lather a particularly crusty spatula. 

"Yeah." a pause "-Been getting into working out. nothing else to do down here." his tone bites, and I know the conversation has ended. His scrubbing slows to a halt as he stares a hole into the dishwater. 

I wonder what the hell he _had_ been doing here- one look around was enough to confirm it wasn't home renovation. Our relationship wasn't stable enough for me to pry without repercussions- perhaps a job? A girlfriend? Was College still on the table? 

In a move of what I can only assume is sibling telepathy, he waves his hand in dismissal. Water droplets attack my eyes and make me flinch. "Yo!"

Reflex has me splashing a cup of soap water in his direction- most of which falls on me- and I snort at the irritated huff that leaves him. "You started it."

I roll my eyes at his responding glare and continue with my scrubbing, giving a long stretch to soothe the lingering ache in my limbs. 

A poke to my side has me grunting with pain "Shit Paul!" My hand cups the wet fabric, a glance taken shows that the offending mark is well on display- The purple flesh is swollen and oh so large. Frankly, it also hurts like a bitch when laid on. His face morphs into something I'd hate to be on the receiving end of and I inhale a sharp breath, doing my best to quell the fear.

"Who did this?" the question is simple in the way it demands to be answered. I turn off the water, wading around him and toward the couch where my jacket lay. I quickly shrug it on and turn around. 

"I fell, Paul. It happens." I grumble, mimicking him in a very sorry attempt at evasion. I feel like a kid again when he scoffs, shaking his head and stalking forward. "Don't bullshit me Liz." The nickname nearly makes me stumble. The grip on my wrist is firm- his words even more so. Anger, perhaps concern _‘I'm probably being too sentimental with that one’_ \- but no pity. Never pity. 

That is Good. I answer him because of it. 

"A parting gift." I say, staring at my brother with an edge even he's surprised by. If he was getting pissy over a surface wound he'd hate to see me on any given weekend before this. A small part of me wishes I could avoid the reminder of what exactly I left behind- a thought that makes me laugh because it puts me at the same place I was three years ago, _running._

My father's face flashes across my vision and I can't help but scrunch my eyes shut. 

' _Out of sight, out of mind. '_

The memory is cutting and unpleasant to think about. The resulting apocalyptic argument that day had him shoving my entire closet out the window and then some. After my surprisingly successful attempts at evading his drunken swipes- sans the toaster he’d thrown, hence the bruise, he’d promptly roared at me to take my sorry ass to any hole that would take me in. Funnily enough, I had heeded his advice. 

It was a whole night in a Jack in the Box and the trip to Jonathan’s before I'd realized I had no such "holes" to crash in. After the sorry look I had given my dying cell and an hour of contemplation- I had made a decision. 

Paul answered on the last ring and told me to pack my shit and head over tomorrow before hanging up. I’d quit my job at the supermarket not a beat after, and spent the rest of the day curled up in my backseat, eye on the clock and mind on everything and nothing alternatively.

"Was it him?" Paul's allusion to our father dear fishes me from my stewing. I don’t answer, but with his tone, I figure he does not suspect anyone else. His palm tightens, and for a split second, his skin is near searing from where it meets mine. When I nod and tug myself away, he relents, only for him to clench his jaw and spit out a final "Come."

He regains his grip, surprisingly now coaxing and soft, and tugs me out the door. He deposits me in the passenger seat and does the walk around to sit opposite. Paul holds his hand out for the keys, but the incredulous look on my face makes him grunt "What is it?"

"Where exactly are we going?" I ask, decidedly shoving my hand into my pocket and fishing out the greyed hello kitty key-chain. _“Paul?”_

"We didn't have any fucking electricity until today so we gotta get the damn ice from somewhere." He shoves the key into the ignition and turns, pushing the stick into reverse- his arm bracing against my headrest soon after as he backs out of the driveway. 

“I’m fine.” I state, as if it would convince him otherwise. I _was_ fine. I have always been fine. Swollen eyes or fractured wrists or stupid bruises changed nothing. They were what they were. I still went into work, went to school, went on living. 

Who was **_anyone_ ** to tell me otherwise? 

“Yeah, o-kay.” He responds, lacking any shape or form of belief. He glances my way, letting his eyes linger before keeping them on the road. It's quiet for a good while before Paul shifts in his seat. His gaze never wavers from the asphalt, but he lets out a final _“_ You’re alright. We’re going to Sam’s.”

The next breath is slightly less sour. I nod in response, not missing the odd sense of comfort the confirmation brings me. I end up hiking my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around them, shielding me from the insinuation that everything up until now had been a mistake, mostly to keep my sanity from leaking out of my ears.

_‘Welcome home, I guess.’_


	2. Culpable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza gets her Ice and realizes her assumptions of a hard-time integrating may not fall far from the tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, this chapter is long overdue and not nearly edited enough. I got a burst of inspiration a day ago and decided to pump this out. Also- we have 17 kudos on chapter one! I was not expecting that at all and I am so so thankful to everyone who took the time to read that monster. Anyways, enjoy the shitshow. Kisth.

The door swings open and, surprisingly, reveals one of the first faces I haven't even _vaguely_ seen before. 

With one hand on her hip and the other supporting her weight against the threshold, the glare she fixates on an unassuming Paul amuses me more than I want to admit. 

In due course she throws her hands in the air at the prolonged sight of him, twisting to shout an annoyed "Babe! Your ruffian is here!" over her shoulder, a muffled grunt followed by creaking resonates from somewhere in the house. She turns to point a finger, voice stern.

" **You**."

Paul nods in acknowledgment, "Hey Em." 

He's guileless enough to make me think this a common occurrence- though a second of scrutiny reveals that his nonchalance bandaids his solemnity. His worry is surprising and does nothing to quell my nerves, but seeing it isn’t revolting in the least.

_'Well whaddya know, Maybe the asshole doesn't hate my guts after all. '_

The air is biting cold and I shove my hands in my pockets despite it doing absolutely nothing to remedy the shivering. The human furnace glances past me and a rustle succeeds from the nearby canopy of pines. His brow furrows before he continues "You got any Ice?" 

She scoffs "I do, infact, have Ice. The Question is am I going to give you any?" 

"It ain't for me Em." an arm lifts weakly in gesture to my presence. I wave out of reflex and manage to cough out a soft _"What's up?"_

The woman noticeably softens, her shoulders go lax and her arms cross into that resigned mom look I know intimately well. "Hello." she steps forward- her arms reaching out as if to go in for a hug, but she retracts into a handshake. "I'm Emily, but Em or Milly are tolerable considering most people around here can't seem to say the whole thing." The fondness in her voice makes me smile in turn and I can't help the feeling of relief at her easy slippage into conversation. "I can't say I know who you are, but I have to warn you about this one, he has a knack for **_breaking_ ** _things that are not his_."

"Hey-"

"We still haven't recovered from the splinters you made of our dining table this morning Lahote. I expect you to help with that tomorrow, early. Got it?"

"Sorry Em, bright and early, got it." He cracks his first smile of the week and I get a glimpse of the same sweaty 17 year old I knew a lifetime ago. I contemplate whether or not this is the Paul everyone _else_ knew.

“Come inside you two, it’s freezing!”

I nearly sing in praise at the warmth a roof and four walls provide. Emily talks shop with Paul about preferred varnish and the new chairs he was going to build for her and disappears into the kitchen, leaving me to sink into the couch with glee. "Sweet Jesus” I heave the heat into my lungs and take a look around.

It bears the common traits of a La Push home. Wooden, cozy, an occasional posting of fishing memorabilia- yet everything was _new_. What I was completely sure of is that the existence of the dwelling succeeded my departure, for an absolute knowledge of the land was drilled into most children's heads by the age of 5- most likely to avoid any maulings.

My wonder at being in an actual home that lives up to the name is halted when Emily re-enters with an ice-pack and a smile “Here 'ya go hon.”

She sets it on the table and _leaves_. There are no questions other than the lingering glance she offers my brother before she’s padding up the stairs. I blink and turn to a brooding Paul, already swiping and fiddling with the pack in his hands. He stares at it hard. I hear a soft crunch before he tosses it to me abruptly, darting up after her with an oddly aggressive grace I’ve never truly seen before. 

_‘Weirdo.’_

The Ice soothes the bruise and only the bruise- For the intense feeling of loneliness and agitation that follows can only be healed by fuck all. 

My fingers play with the stitching in my pockets in search of a prize that is currently under lock and key by one of the four inhabitants. I long to take a drag to calm my nerves but I settle for staring at the small collection of picture frames that hang on a nearby wall. It's a good 30 minutes before I finally hear the shuffle of feet descending. A long time to leave a stranger unaccompanied in your home- though I'm flattered Emily trusts me enough not to pickpocket one of her many bath and body works candles. 

"-we're up after Jared and Quil. Send her home when you hear em'." two men descend the steps, one of them being my brother and the other evidently more shirtless. I avert my eyes in respect to both him as well as the fact that he was most likely Emily’s. Though the peek did not uh- _disappoint_. 

Ratty sandals fall within my eye-line and I tip my head up- only to get an eyeful of **_Sam Uley_ ** _._

“Holyshit- _Sam?_ ” I stand abruptly, gaping at the gigantic form of Sam fucking Uley. Lanky as shit, Braces having, Star Wars loving Sam Uley. 

He blinks. He never really was comfortable with attention. It hits me that the two look more like siblings than Paul and I- chopped hair, jean shorts and very Herculean. Paul is a little smaller, but his change was nowhere near as drastic as _this._ He’d been skinny in the normal sense of the word, but tall with a propensity for sports. Sam had been short and every bit of the nerd we'd all loved and known him to be, especially Clearwater. He and Leah were as tight as tight could be, more in love than my own parents had been. They were the it couple around town and everyone wanted what they shared for their own. I used to think the only way they'd be rid of each other is if one of them died. The thought makes me panic, but I know an invite would have been sent if that ever occurred. 

Seeing him so different, with Leah nowhere in sight, living with another woman- it begs the question of what the hell happened?

He nods, recollecting himself faster than I could gather my mouth off the floor. There is a look in his eye that suggests a maturity that hadn't existed before I'd left. "Eliza." It's sharp and formal and it does _not_ hurt my feelings in the least. It doesn't. 

A memory of ruffled hair and bonfires hits harder than the pain. In this moment I yearn more than I've ever had. 

I'm quiet for a moment before I let a sad smile fall upon my lips. "Come on Sammy, don't be like that."

It's small, but I notice his face twitch. He looks away, eyes settling on an uncomfortable-looking Emily. I can see the gears turn in his head before he places a hand on Paul's shoulder, leans in, whispers something in his ear and walks out the door. 

He spares no attention and no familiarity and I cannot tell if it's indeed a blessing or a curse. Paul looks more constipated than usual, Emily snaps out of her daze and collects the watery sack left on the couch, disappearing into the kitchen once more- probably to allow me to recollect. What a nice girl, Sam doesn't deserve her. 

_'He probably does. It's been a long time and you're in his home at 10 o'clock at night. What else did you expect?'_

The burst of anger fizzles out like a match. It's fleeting, misplaced, and warrants nothing more than a kicked rock- though I settle for standing instead, glaring a hole into the coffee table. It is a lovely shade.

_‘Gee Paul you could've warned me everyone would hate my guts.’_ I chuckle to myself and it's bitter but I lack the care to chastise myself over it. He looks at me in a way that suggests empathy and I let him off the hook. 

I walk toward the kitchen with the intent to thank my only warm welcomer with any leftover pleasantry remaining that wasn't absolutely destroyed by being publicly dismissed by her boyfriend. It wasn't a great look and I wanted to save face, sue me. 

"Emily-" I start, peeking my head in and noting that the kitchen was just as homey as the living room. There is a large empty space where a dining table definitely once sat. She's fiddling with a newly filled ice pack, staring out the window like a wife whose husband just got drafted. "Thank you for the uh-" 

Her head swivels and she does nothing to hide the grim downturn of her face. "I'm sorry about that. Sam gets into these _moods_." She stalks toward me, the click of her flats filling the quiet. She raises her hand and for a second I want to shy away. I want to hold up my arms to protect myself from a swing I know isn't coming. Emily touches my shoulder, looks me in the eyes and gently hands me the ice pack. "Keep it." 

"No I- it's _fine_. I can-"

"You're welcome anytime. See you soon honey." she brushes off my decline masterfully, squeezes my shoulder and relents- breezing past me and hollering an airy "Take care!"

After being forced to receive a stranger's _'not a stranger, now Emily’'_ kindness, I trudge back into the living room feeling less than stellar. Whatever's left of my emotions are thoroughly washed and spent and ready to fall off the bone.

My eyes begin to water on the drive to Paul's. I hate, I wallow, then I accept- Because there isn't any other choice I could afford. 

"Is Leah okay?" I ask sometime along the ride. "No." he says after a moment of contemplation and I hate that I am not surprised. I make it a point to visit, whether or not I was turned away was to be determined, but I don't let the thought deter me. It was owed. 

The silence is filled with my deep swallows made in attempts to reign in the pressure behind my eyes. The ice numbs my skin until it aches and I enjoy the distraction. 

Paul says everything he needs to when he pulls out a loose cigarette and my lighter and places it in the cupholder between us. 

"Last one."

It takes a minute but I pick it up with tender fingers. I shove it between my lips and resist the urge to bite down. The windows drop and I take my first and last smoke like a dying man- Shaky and resigned. I watch the puff trails fade out the car and I try and fail to plan a gift basket or something of the sort for Emily. 

* * *

The engine rumbles to a close and I drag myself out of the car with immense effort. Paul follows suit, pulling out the keys and throwing them my way. _'Can’t he ever just hand me things?'_

"Thanks." I grumble instead, chewing on my lip in thought. He hums and shuts the car door less violently than usual. I count it as a win.

"Imma head out. Don't wait up."

"Paul." 

The call is automatic and I realize that I haven't exactly thought about what to say. Gratitude never does well when it’s empty- But right now it isn’t in the least. I _am_ thankful for the place to sleep, for the concern, and for the damn breakfast sandwich.

In the end, I settle for the obvious. He stops his retreat. Now hobbling back to the front door I turn toward a now stagnant Paul and shrug. "Thank you for y'know. " I gesture wildly and he actually begins to look amused _‘not throwing me out on my ass and for being kinda nice earlier’_ "Everything."

His face falls "I haven't done shit Lizzy." and he leaves, Walking off into the dark like the melodramatic ass he is and always has been.

* * *

Paul doesn't return that night and I end up spending a good hour of my life making myself look presentable enough to face a school full of richer and whiter teens that probably eat each other for fun. 

It's nothing new. Portland was my first soiree with the real taste of being the minority. It's a weird feeling at first, but once you get past the hair touching and odd question or two, you could adequately deal with everything else. All in all, last night made me more confident 

I take a long and well-deserved shower, tie my curls up in a way I know it flatters me, put on my most expensive thrift store finds and head out the door with 40 minutes to spare. The bruise hurts less and I find that I miss the pain that grounded me. I reach for a Marlboro that isn’t there more than once on the ride over and start picking at the flaking leather of the driver’s seat in retaliation. 

The morning is crisp and beauteous enough for a few longing stares out the window. The chapstick in my pocket shall be used more than a few times today if the cold persists as it usually does. I enjoy the long stretch of road, devoid of all but me. My thoughts start to meander toward what to cook for dinner but by then, I turn the last corner and see a bustling parking lot and a whole lot of very new faces.

The sight sends my heart into a frenzy. The steering wheel squeaks under my grip at the sudden staring I’m accosted with when my tires roll up the driveway. This is what was different between here and Portland- people actually noticed you.

I do not enjoy it. Looking around I am half expecting someone to tap on my window in reminiscence of a Zoo exhibit. I spend a good five minutes _discreetly_ observing through my side mirror and rubbing my hands against my jeans for heat and cursing the fact that I have to eventually step out of my car. I gather my bag and shove the door open against my better wishes because fuck it, what could really go wrong?

There are neither hollers nor jeers, which I am immensely grateful for- but I can swear someone pulls out a digital camera somewhere along the harrowing journey from my car to the entrance. I clutch the wrinkled schedule between my thumbs and study it intently in order to justify my lack of eye contact, and I keep my pace even enough to make it not look like I’m outright running in fear. First period, Gym. Disgusting. Second, _Calculus_. Even more so. Is wasting away in my car still an option?

Halfway through some corridor, a vague memory of someone telling me to visit the office on my first day resurfaces. “Oh.” I blink and turn. It was the one place I knew. Safe and filled with one or two middle-aged women- an ideal environment in the moment. 

“Hey! New girl!” The slap of sneakers against the freshly waxed tile is harsh and unpleasant. My eyes widen at the call and I whip around just in time for a spindly limb to stretch around my shoulders. I pull-away, disliking the invasion and the discomfort that fills my chest. The glare that settles on my face makes the slightly greasy east Asian boy blanch as he steps away with his jacket-clad arms raised. Upon further investigation I have about an Inch of height on him, he has a baby face with sporadic dotting of acne. I see that he looks shocked, if not apologetic; There is a camera slung around his neck, the words _SONY_ embossed on its side in chrome _‘I guess I wasn’t imagining things back there, yikes.’_

He coughs and my brow furrows.

_“_ Hey man, no offense but I think it's a little early for that.” I reply after raising an eyebrow at the sudden silence that befalls the camera boy. It takes a second before he starts to fumble.

"Nah nah girl it ain't like that! I was just tryna welcome you to- to Forks High! It's chill like that here! we're practically family er-" my stare is testy at best, and when he picks up that I am not really having it his head bows "- I'm sorry. Yeah. No touchy, got it." 

He rocks on his heels, hands shoved deep into his pockets. eyes meeting everything except my own. I knew I needed to make it a point that I didn’t exactly enjoy the complete disregard of personal space, so I cross my arms and make an effort to sound as no-nonsense as possible. The role is easy to fill. I glower “You should stop that. It’s uncomfortable.” 

I find a sick satisfaction in the way he nods 

In the end, I reciprocate, holding out a hand he takes with haste “We’re cool. It’s Eliza by the way, what’d you need?”

“Eric- and uh Need?” he asks and I laugh, shaking my head at the sorry attempt at subtlety. “Yeah. You needed something right?” I give him an out and he takes it, face lighting up.

“Actually-” _Eric_ points to his chest “I’m in charge of this week's spread and you’re the biggest news since those transferees from the reservation-”

“La Push.”

“Yeah there- hey you been yet? They got some nice beaches, you should join me and my crew sometime! if you _want_ to I mean.” bodies wade around us in droves and I’m beginning to wonder if I will indeed miss my first class of the school year. 

“I’ve been.” ‘ _for only the majority of my entire life’_ goes unsaid. “It’s nice.” _‘I’d warn you against asking for ice though’_

“Mhm, so I snapped a pic of you in your car earlier-”

_“Excuse me?”_

“I know! I know- I wasn’t going to _use it._ Well, yes I was. But not without asking you first!” he grabs the point and shoot, clicking it on and near shoving it in my face “You look great- what do you think?” 

There I sit, grainy with chin in hand and completely out of it. I almost commend him on capturing the height of human despair, and on the other hand, I want to shake some common decency into his beanied brain. I was well aware that boredom made sensible people do some rather _odd_ things, but god why is this one of them. “Eric, I’m flattered- really, but you should delete this like, now.”

“Are you sure? I mean you look _really_ _really-_ ”

“Dude.”

“Deleting! Deleting!” He frowns and fiddles with the buttons a bit, letting it go after a few moments and allowing it to swing into place once more. Eric looks bummed enough to make me feel a smidgen of remorse- “Would you reconsider?” -but not that much. 

I smile, shaking my head. “No Eric.” 

I wave, original destination in mind as I walk against the crowd. A voice calls out for him and I let out a breath of relief, not that Gym was the better alternative, but I consider it a shit show well avoided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Eric, you creepy fuck. Chapter three is going to include meetings- also, Lizzy's ever-growing list of questions just gets longer. Expect an update next NEXT week because exams are a bitch. I'll try to make that one long and juicy just for you lovelies. Bella and New Moon Jake stans rise up. 
> 
> We will (maybe) catch a glimpse of what Major yeehaw is doing amidst all this. 
> 
> Tell me what you think! Leave comments and kudos and all that jazz and remember I hope all of you are safe and doing well <3 smooch

**Author's Note:**

> Since it's the New Year I've decided to put an Idea I've had for quite some time out here for you wonderful readers! I've always had a problem with releasing my stuff *cough* self-doubt *cough*- but 2020 was terrible and I have lost all feeling. Might as well take advantage and do something I've always wanted to do! Write a book! 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this hefty first chapter- not much has happened yet but I hope its a good enough introduction to Eliza (who I imagine is played by Luz Pavon, if you were wondering) and all the actual story that is yet to come. I've promised myself to work on chapter two immediately so hopefully my goblin brain updates soon. 
> 
> Constructive criticism is welcome! Good Luck guys, we might need it. Toss a Kudo and comment if you wish!


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